


Mondays

by phandomsub



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Coming In Pants, Dry Humping, Grinding, M/M, Model Dan Howell, Phan Smut, Public Sex, Smut, Strangers, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 04:27:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14686461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phandomsub/pseuds/phandomsub
Summary: Dan hates Mondays, but maybe the cute stranger he meets on the train can make this one a little less shit.





	Mondays

Mondays fucking suck.

Dan swears he’s never had a good one in his life. It was Monday when his family dog died, and when he fractured his wrist ice-skating as a kid. It was Monday when he got his unsatisfactory exam results, and when he dropped out of uni. It was Monday when he told his mum he wanted to be a model, not a lawyer, and she had looked at him like he was a disappointment. It was Monday when his dad caught him on his knees and kicked him out of the house – but that was a long time ago and he doesn’t think about it much nowadays.

He’s had less dramatic bad Mondays, of course. Take today, for instance: it’s not even 9 AM and Dan’s already slept through his alarm, been given the wrong coffee order, burnt his tongue on said coffee, and had to _run_ to make his train. Needless to say, he’s not in the greatest of moods, so when someone bumps into him on the Tube, he’s just about ready to bite their head off.

‘Could you fucking–’

As he turns to throw a glare over his shoulder, Dan’s stage-whisper abruptly cuts off when he actually gets a look at the person. It’s a man, older than himself but surely not by much, with jet-black hair pushed back into a neat quiff and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. He stands close to Dan’s back – a closeness that would be considered an invasion of personal space in any other setting – with one hand wrapped around the handrail and the other holding a briefcase. Objectively, he’s very attractive and, conceitedly, Dan is no longer angry.

‘I’m sorry!’ the man says, sounding much more innocent that he looks.

‘Oh,’ Dan says, eyes trailing down over his tailored suit and the long, lean body beneath it. There’s a lanyard poking out of his jacket pocket, and Dan can see just enough of the attached ID to make out the name _Phil_. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

When Dan’s gaze drags back up to lock with his big, blue eyes, Phil’s pale cheeks blossom a bright pink. Perhaps he was a little _too_ obvious with his eye-fucking, but Phil doesn’t exactly look uncomfortable about it – not in a bad way, at least – and it’s too late to take it back now, anyway. Which, obviously, means he may as well have some fun and see how much of an effect he can have in the space of a few seconds.

Dan bites down seductively on his lower lip and bats his long eyelashes a couple of times, just for the hell of it; it has Phil flushing even darker, and Dan has to turn back around to hide his shit-eating grin. _It’s a necessity,_ he tells himself as he watches blackness roll by the windows – every time he falls through the cracks at a modelling gig, he needs a new confidence-boost to get him back on his feet. It just so happens that innocently making cute boys squirm is his favourite kind.

A minute or so later, the train slows for the next station. A handful of people get off, and about a hundred more force their way in. Dan sighs heavily, a victim of London peak-hour – he can barely even move now, and even though the body heat radiating behind him is from a fit guy, he would still rather be literally anywhere else. As they begin to move again, he takes his phone from his pocket and tries to submerge himself in the digital world instead.

It works for a while; Dan finds himself contemplating the origin of some obscure meme as they jostle through the underground. Then the driver suddenly puts on the breaks and everyone loses their balance.

It’s not enough to make anyone actually fall. Most people just do an awkward penguin-shuffle with the crowd to find their footing. Dan – with his ridiculous amount of height – almost knocks his head on the handrail but avoids stepping on anyone. Phil, on the other hand, crashes right into his back.

‘Oh, _shit_. I-I’m sorry.’

Dan twists around to look at him again. This time, he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to – his expression says it all. A little perplexed, and very, very smug. Phil looks away almost immediately, face now a firetruck fucking red. In his defence, though, he has good reason to be embarrassed this time.

He’s hard. Undoubtedly so. This isn’t a roll-of-quarters situation, Dan is positive; if anyone knows what it feels like to have a hard cock pressed to their ass, it’s him, and he just had it happen with a stranger on the Tube. Objectively, that’s gross, but honestly, so is Dan and the man is hot and fucking _hung_. The dilemma is, what does he do about it?

Dan faces forwards again and checks the time on his phone. There’s still another five minutes until they’re expected to arrive at his stop. _That’s enough time,_ he thinks, and then, _for what?_ He can’t just drop to his knees on a crowded train and give this stranger what he wants (and, admittedly, what Dan wants to give him). He shoots another glance over his shoulder and catches Phil staring at his ass. That decides it for him. He discretely shuffles backwards.

The sound Phil makes as Dan’s ass brushes against his crotch is soft and muffled, lost to everyone around them; he only manages to catch it because Phil’s mouth hovers so close to his ear. It’s impossible to be sure, but the carriage is so jam-packed that Dan doubts they look even slightly out of place in the mass of sardined bodies. And so, he tightens his grip on the nearby pole, grounds his heels into the soles of his shoes, and grinds back against him.

This time, Phil’s tiny squeak is a little louder, but the _rattle-rattle_ of the tracks is deafening enough to drown it out. Dan stills almost immediately, teasing him, and even through the (assumed) four layers of clothing between them, he feels Phil’s cock twitch. Grinning to himself, Dan casually stares at his phone and waits one second, two, and then feels the timid press of hips against him.

With an air of chastity, Dan clears his throat and moves back a little farther. It’s almost impossible with how close they already are, but if he spreads his feet a bit, he can stand in a way that his ass is flush against Phil’s aching dick without even having to push back. It brings a heavy, needy breath, and then another, more confident roll of the hips. Phil grunts, low and lewd. A wave of adrenaline-fuelled arousal crashes over Dan, and it’s then that he realises this isn’t just fun – it’s fucking _hot_.

‘That good?’ he whispers on an exhale, over his shoulder. He can see the side of Phil’s face from the corner of his eye. He’s sweating.

‘ _Uh_ ,’ Phil breathes against his ear, pushing his clothed cock forward in slow thrusts, rubbing it lustfully against Dan with the bouncing movements of the train.

There’s so many things Dan wants to say right now – so many dirty things about how filthy they are and how naughty this is and okay, maybe he’s getting a little too into this. His intentions weren’t to get _himself_ hard, after all. But he’s here and this is the hottest thing he’s done all month and he can always touch himself in the storeroom at work. It’s not like he hasn’t done it before – it’s just about the only perk of working in a clothing store nobody can actually afford to shop in. The problem is, there’s no way he can say any of what he wants to without getting them caught.

Dan’s train of thought is derailed for a moment when they go over a particularly rocky stretch of tracks; Phil’s cock is thrust against him hard enough to stretch the fabric of his thin pants, and the head presses in between his cheeks, just that little bit. They both gasp, grips tightening. Dan’s eyelids flutter closed, and he only forces them open again when he’s struck with an idea. Hastily, he opens a new note on his phone and types a quick, one-handed message before holding it up to his shoulder, angled towards Phil.

 _Love your thick cock against me, dirty boy_.

Dan doesn’t have to turn around to know Phil’s read it. It’s obvious by his adorable whine, and the way his desperate hips jerk and shudder. Dan fleetingly wonders when this poor guy got laid last, cause _fuck_ , is he easy to wind up. Not that he’s complaining. He loves when they fall apart for him.

‘Shit,’ Dan whispers as his own dick swells. He’s well past half-hard by now and he wants to palm himself so badly, but that’s a very, very bad idea. He settles for working back against the stranger behind him and writing out another message.

_Want to feel you fuck against me harder._

Dan gets his wish – Phil pushes closer against him, so tightly that Dan has to push back to stay upright. His little, uncontrollable ruts get faster and much less rhythmic as his breathing deepens. He can’t feel it, of course, but Dan knows dick well enough to be sure that Phil’s must be positively _leaking_ , probably soaking through his underwear as the head grows more and more sensitive. Throbbing in the confines of his slacks, begging for that little push. He’s _so fucking close._ Knowing this, Dan types out one last message.

 _Wish you could slide inside me right here, filthy boy_.

‘Oh, fuck,’ Phil hisses, knees shaking. He lets go of the handrail to grip at Dan’s waist instead, using his whole body to rub his cock against him. Suddenly, Dan’s final message is a lot more truth than dirty talk. ‘I’m gonna come, I’m gonna–’

Dan feels it happen. Phil’s entire being shakes apart as it hits, almost bursting at the seams with the effort to keep in his sounds of pleasure. He buries his mouth in Dan’s shoulder to hide his escaped whimpers, breathing heavily through his nose as he pulses come into his pants. He moves through it, fast and dirty, taking the most he can from his solid body. The shiver that runs through Dan almost feels like a second-hand orgasm.

The train is pulling up at another station when Phil peels away. He digs his nails out from the beds they’ve made in Dan’s flesh, but Dan barely even notices, even when Phil’s hand awkwardly falls away – he’s concentrating far too hard on not just turning around and humping the strangers’ thigh until he gets his own release. He wishes he could say he comes to his senses on his own, but Dan’s pretty sure the only thing that stops him is the shock of lips returning to his ear and a hand snaking into his pocket.

‘Thank you,’ Phil whispers.

The automatic doors slide open, and then he’s gone.

A glance at the map tells Dan he’s only one stop away. One more stop, and he can duck into a Starbucks bathroom or something, because God knows he can’t walk the three blocks to work with a raging hard-on. Trying to distract himself, he thinks of the mystery item in his pocket – physically, it hasn’t changed, but mentally, it weighs a tonne. He promises himself he’ll wait until he’s off the train to check it. The pact lasts all of ten seconds, and then he’s eagerly fishing it out.

It’s a business card; white and rectangular, with three simple lines of text.

_Phil Lester_

_Storm Model Management_

_07911-132-455_

Dan grins, flipping it over in his fingers. Maybe Mondays aren’t so bad, after all.


End file.
